


Stoic-kun & Crow's Feet

by Phosphorite



Category: Free!
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The energy that sets over that table isn't that of brothers.<br/>It's hard to put into words what it is exactly, which is why she finds herself unable to turn away.</p>
<p>[belated one-shot birthday fic for pennyofthewild]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stoic-kun & Crow's Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennyofthewild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/gifts).



> For two years now Penny's always taken time out of her ridic busy schedule to draw me something for my birthday. When I got some unexpected time off work, I figured I would throw something together to return the favour since hers was a few days ago. However, I couldn't really decide what to write, exactly - I couldn't decide between Souharu and Harurin, so in the end... it just became all three. Oops.
> 
> Either way, this is belated and short and unworthy as hell, but still. I hope it in some form conveys my gratitude for you putting up with my bad sense of humour for so long, haha. So happy birthday, Penny.

 

 

 

She notices them the second they enter the café.

Well, it would be hard not to. There's a _whoomph_ at the door where the wind clings to the hinges, and a _swoosh_ once the rain pours inside. But it's what follows that almost makes her drop her phone in startled jolt: a set of heavy footsteps, and a conversation in low, dry tones.

"I _told_ you. For less than five hundred yen, the only kind of umbrella you can buy is one worth about as much as a door stopper."

"Then you should have gotten your own."

"Yes, because my hands were so amazingly vacant with your stupid box."

"It's not my box. And it's not stupid."

"Whatever. Sit here for a second, okay? I feel like I need to go dry my entire brain."

Of the two men who have just entered, one turns on his heels and heads towards the restroom at the back. The other remains by the nearby counter table, hands resting over what looks like a large, rain-soaked parcel. When he eventually complies and takes a seat, the box is pushed against the window.

She's not really sure why she continues to stare at him, even after the initial surprise subsides.

Well, it would probably be hard not to, too; when the man leans his elbows against the counter, his head slips in profile and she swears he is one of the most beautiful people she has ever seen. The only crease on that beauty is the one on his brow, staring intently at the parcel before him: the edges are soggy, and the cardboard has already started crumpling up.

It doesn't take long for him to sense he's being watched, though. She nearly dives into her iced coffee when his head turns, and a pair of startlingly blue eyes sweep across her side of the aisle.

What saves her is the return of his friend. Well, _friend_ is probably... not quite the right word, because from the moment he crosses over and slumps on the adjacent seat, an air of tension settles right back in those shoulders. Both of them have dark hair and jawlines like the men in her hairdresser's magazines, but the energy that sets over that table isn't that of brothers.

It's hard to put into words _what_ it is exactly, which is why she finds herself unable to turn away.

"Did you order anything?" the second man asks, and receives a headshake in response. "...You do realize that's kind of mandatory here, unless you specifically want to get thrown out."

"Then get something," the first man states flatly, still staring at the parcel. The ease of his aloofness is almost mesmerizing, but it rolls off his companion like the water streaming down the window.

Lifting up a book to hide her obvious spying, she watches the second man (no, that's a terrible epithet – if and when she tweets about this later, she's going to need a catchier name than that) sigh and get up. By the time he returns, she's decided to call him Stoic-kun, because he looks so unimpressed with the entire world. The shorter man, she calls him Crow's Feet, if just for the wrinkles that emerge around his eyes when he glares.

Those same eyes widen lightly, though, when a glass of something blue and yellow gets pushed in front of his face.

"Everything was too sweet," Stoic-kun states matter-of-factly. "Don't drink it too quickly. I need to buy some time to see how much the rain ruined your box."

"It's not my box," Crow's Feet repeats, and for the first time something frustrated enters his tone. "It's _Rin's_."

At the sound of that name, Stoic-kun comes to a pause.

In his adjacent seat, he turns his back to the counter. His hand hovers for a moment before resting in the space between them, elbow lightly touching Crow's Feet's arm; it might be an entirely meaningless gesture, but the next time he speaks, Stoic-kun's voice also sounds... different, like talking to a partner in crime.

"I'm just trying to check if there's anything that needs to be thrown away. You know–– something the customs wouldn't let through." The side of his mouth twists wryly, like a private memory. "It's always a nightmare sending things overseas."

"I didn't include anything prohibited this time," Crow's Feet mutters, and stares at his hands. "...Just some things from home."

Still, when he turns there's a glance that passes between the two, wordless and soft all at once; and it almost feels like some kind of a puzzle piece, but she's not quite sure yet how it fits.

"Yeah, well, your interpretation of the material world can be questionable," Stoic-kun says, but it's a good-humored jab; the tilt of his head is followed by a subtle laugh, and she wonders if Stoic-kun is the most accurate nickname after all.

Against the window, the rain slowly grows lighter.

"Miss? Is it okay if I take this away?"

She almost kicks the leg of her table when the waitress startles her from her thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, of course," she stutters, and the puzzled waitress picks up her finished iced coffee in a graceful sweep. Something about the commotion must have alerted Stoic-kun and Crow's Feet, though, because when she eyes back in their direction, their heads are huddled closer to talk in lower tones. It makes her want to crane her neck just to hear what they're saying, because all she can make out are the words _asked to join for dinner_ and _not eating anything Makoto's made_.

"The rain's letting up," Stoic-kun eventually states more firmly, pushing down his shoulders and sliding back to his feet. "The post office is just around the corner. We can go check for damage there, then grab you another box."

Crow's Feet lives up to his name when his chin tilts up, defiance evident in his stare. "It's not––"

"––Your box," Stoic-kun cuts him off though. "I know. I didn't say it was."

He lifts the parcel with both hands, then takes two steps before tossing a Look over his shoulder.

"It's ours," he breathes out in an unreadable voice, and she feels a sudden spark jolting down her spine.

She never finds out how Crow's Feet responds, though. The moment is lost in the sudden bustle at the entrance, as three high-school girls enter pointing at each other's damp hair. The sound of their laughter is like a wave of tiny bells, and by the time they scuttle over to observe today's specials, the counter table is already vacant.

At the exit, she catches one last sight of the two men right before they disappear: Crow's Feet pushes the door open with a light shove, and Stoic-kun wordlessly follows him through. Behind them a trickle of sunlight floods right into the café, a split moment before the door closes in their wake.

Afterwards, she doesn't go on Twitter.

No, she only sits there in silence until the waitress returns to pick up her empty plate; but it's here that she remembers the half-finished drink on the counter, and a curious thought crosses her mind.

"Could you tell me what that is?" she asks, and the waitress stops instead of collecting the glass.

"Blue curacao and lemonade," comes the polite response. "But it's not our most popular drink. Most people usually find it a bit too sour, so we added tiny slices of pineapple – a touch of sugar, you see, to sweeten the taste."

"I see," she nods, then thanks the waitress.

As the café begins to crowd with patrons after the storm, she finally pushes back to her feet. Still, she cannot help pausing by the counter table; letting her eyes linger on the swirls of blue and yellow, she realizes someone's finished all the fruit.

She clutches onto her book, takes a deep breath, then steps outside.

(It feels a lot like the light follows her, too.)

 

 

-fin

**Author's Note:**

> The drink is actually something I shamelessly stole from the official Free! Café that's temporarily being set up in Ikebukuro. It's called [Blue Mermaid](http://www.adores.jp/anipla/free-es/menu.html).
> 
> The café in the story is based on one that also exists (also in Ikebukuro!). Yes, there's a post office nearby. I steal from real life whenever I can. Because I can.


End file.
